I have had a conversation with Sir Arthur, very singular in its kind, which has again awakened sensations in their full force that had previously cost me many bitter struggles to allay. I began with informing him of my intention to go down to Wenbourne-Hill; after which I proceeded to tell him it was my design to embark for America.
He seemed surprised, and said he hoped not.
I answered I had reflected very fully on the plan, and that I believed it was scarcely probable any reason should occur which could induce me to change my purpose.
The thing, he replied, might perhaps not be so entirely improbable as I supposed. His family had great obligations to me. I had even risked my life on various occasions for them. They thought my talents very extraordinary. In fine, Oliver, the good old gentleman endeavoured to say all the kind and, as he deemed them, grateful things his memory could supply; and added that, should I leave England without affording them some opportunity to repay their obligations, they should be much grieved. There were perhaps two or three very great difficulties in the way; but still he was not sure they might not be overcome. Not that he could say any thing positively, for matters were he must own in a very doubtful state. He was himself indeed very considerably uneasy, and undetermined: but he certainly wished me exceedingly well, and so with equal certainty at present did all his family. His daughter, his son, himself, were all my debtors.
The good old gentleman's heart overflowed, Oliver, and by its ebullitions raised a tumult in mine, which required every energy it possessed to repel. What could I answer, but that I had done no more for his family than what it was my duty to do for the greatest stranger; and that, if gratitude be understood to mean a remembrance of favours received, I and my family had for years indubitably been the receivers?
He still persisted however in endeavouring to dissuade me from the thought of quitting the kingdom. Not finding me convinced by his arguments, he hesitated, with an evident desire to say something which he knew not very well how to begin. All minds on such occasions are under strong impulses. My own wish that he should be explicit was eager, and I excited him to proceed. At last he asked if he might put a question to me; assuring me it was far from his intention to offend, but that he had some uneasy doubts which he could be very glad to have removed.
I desired him to interrogate me freely; and to assure himself that I would be guilty of no dissimulation.
He knew my sincerity, he said; but if when I heard I should think any thing in what he asked improper, I past dispute had a right to refuse.
I answered that I suspected or rather was convinced I had no such right, and requested him to begin.
He again stammered, and at last said—I think, Mr. Henley, I have remarked some degree of esteem between you and my daughter—